Those Pleading Eyes
by and.i.believe
Summary: "We're not broken just bent, and we can learn to love again." He's a beast damaged beyond repair. Losing the only light in his dark world. How can he pick up the pieces now? Could a chance encounter be the saving grace he needs? She's been damaged as well. Could each hold the missing pieces the other needs? Leroux, Kay, ALW, and Schumacher inspired. [Erik/OC]


**I've been obsessed with **_**Phantom of the Opera **_**fiction for a while now. I wanted to give a shot at my own. I hope it doesn't suck too bad.**

_**Phantom of the Opera **_**belongs to Gaston Leroux, **_**Phantom **_**belongs to Susan Kay, film inspirations belong to ALW and Joel Schumacher. Story and all other characters belong to me.**

* * *

_Hide your face so the world will never find you…_

Those voices. They were so clear, so cogent as he plunged himself further into the darkness, desperate to escape the voices that taunted him.

_Track down this murderer, he must be found!_

_Hunt out this animal, who runs to ground!_

An animal was he? He surely felt like one in that moment. Feral in his run, like a beast seeking comfort in the darkness.

He wasn't sure if they had actually followed him through his escape route or if he was just imagining them. In fact, he wasn't sure whether he would glad if they caught him or not. If they did catch him then they would surely kill him. At least it would be an escape from the treacherous pain he felt in his heart. He knew he wasn't running to escape from his pursuers, he was running to escape the pain.

Should he let them find him? Let them end his misery? Put an end to all the madness?

_Swear to me, never to tell!_

_The secret you know of the Angel in Hell!_

…he had told them. _Them _that served as the source of his pain. _He _that stole all that he cared for, crushing his dreams of happiness. _She_ that had given up everything he had given to her, had denied him, betrayed him…

He dared not speak their names; for fear that it would drown him further into his madness than he already was.

A slither of light began to appear before him and all train of thought had been stopped by that small slither. He knew he was at the end of the tunnel and would soon be out of the darkness. It was dreadfully quiet now, and the voices had stopped. The only hints of noise were the murmurings of voices that had begun to reach his ears. The distant clomp of footsteps and the twiddle of wheels against the pavement outside; carriages and carts.

Reaching up, he pushed against the exit barrier. Being one of the original architects of the Opera Populaire, he knew of every nook, cranny, passage, and tunnel that lied within, under, and outside the Opera Populaire. He had known which tunnel he took. It was a special one that not even his pursuers could find, and if they had, it would have been only by a miracle of God. It was one he devised for emergencies such at this to escape anyone that had found his lair and tried to hunt him down. It served its purpose well.

He grated his teeth as he pushed against the barrier. He had not been down this tunnel in many years, so it was understandable why the barrier might have been rusted into place. He gave one final haul before the barrier finally caved open. He levered his against the barrier wall and heaved himself out of the small whole. Forcing himself out, he crawled away and braced himself against a stone wall.

He curled his knees up and let his arms fall limp at his sides, as he fought to catch his breath. And out of nowhere, he caught himself beginning to chuckle. _I really have gone mad_, he thought to himself. The chuckling then turned into a horrendous laugh. No hints of pleasantry in it at all. The laughter then turned into hoarse sobbing. He gripped his knees closer to himself and just stayed that way, letting the tears fall.

_Juste que ça s'arrête, just make it stop!, _he pleaded inside his head. "Just make it stop!" he screamed aloud then to no one.

Once he settled himself, he opened his eyes and examined his surroundings. It was still night time, but it was also very cold. He shivered as the wind chilled his skin. His clothes clung uncomfortably to his body and he was partially deluged with sweat. He had run for so long and so hard. Aside from the murmured voices his ears barely caught, the strongest sound was the thumping of his own heart. It beat wildly and out of normal rhythm. Slowing his breath, he forced his body back under his control.

Now the murmuring of voices had grown louder, and the clomping of feet and wheels more lucid. Looking around, he saw that he was in a deserted alley, filled with nothing but old wooden crates. He knew he was a good few blocks away from that dreaded place. Getting up, he walked along the alleyway, keeping his hands out to feel his way through.

As he neared the end of the alley, the murmurs were more rampant, as in a sort of panic.

"Fire at the Populaire…"

"Everyone's in a panic…"

"It's madness I tell you, bloody madness…"

"Some madman went on a rampage…"

"Caused the chandelier to come crashing down…"

"How horrible…"

"It was all because of that damned phantom I tell you…"

"A hideous beast caused the entire opera to go up in flames…"

_Madman…damned phantom…a hideous beast, _he chuckled darkly to himself as he caught the bits and pieces from jumbled conversations floating about the rampant streets and voices. Word of the Opera Populaire on fire had travelled fast already. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if it spread all over Paris by now.

"_**Aaaaaahhhhhhh!**_" a blood curdling scream rang out. His eyes fluttered about in sheer panic looking for the source of the scream. He finally saw it. A woman had looked directly at him and spotted him in the darkness of the alley. But how could she have seen him? What was so scary about…

_Oh no…_

His hand immediately shot up to his face. Where was his mask? He had no mask. She didn't just see a strange figure lurking about in the darkness—she saw his face. He clamped his hand over his face and looked back at the woman. Her eyes were wide with fear as she continued to scream and point.

"Mon dieu! Monster! Monster!" she screamed. By then more people were looking in the direction she was pointing. Shrieks and gasps suddenly began to ring out through the crowd. By then he did the only thing he could think to do. He ran.

He pushed forward and into the streets and away from the shrieking crowd. How could he have been so blunt to leave his mask behind? What had he been thinking? Just to escape and not go about unnoticed? He had to get away, find a safe place or at least something to cover his face. That should be his first priority, the rest would come later.

He lurched through the streets. He had never been out in the streets and so vulnerable before. He almost didn't see the carriage heading in his direction. The horses reared back in fright waving their hooves wildly in panic. He backed away in fright as the hooves came clashing down. He barely bolted out of the way before their hooves came clashing down to where he had stood.

"Oi! Watch where you're going! Crétin!" the coach driver spat as he reared the reins back trying to calm the horses. Eyes of the crowd turned towards the blunder.

He quickly turned to back away from the distraught coach and to get away from the prying eyes that continued to stare. The gasps began to rouse in the crowd again. Before he knew what was happening, he had tripped over something and came crashing down. He didn't hit pavement, but he landed hard on something. He heard another woman's shriek, this one much closer. He looked down to see that he had accidentally run into and fell on a woman. She was screaming and pushing against him.

He immediately shot up and off of her. "I'm sorry," he barely said before trying to run again, but not before something jerked the back of his shirt and whirled him around.

A pair of musty hands gripped the front of his shirt. "What do you think you're doing to my wife?!" hot breath spat in his face.

Mixed with fear and panic, he felt his feral stage coming on as he pushed against the man that gripped his shirt. "I'm sorry, monsieur, it was an accident!"

The man lunged a fist back and directly into his face, directly hitting him on his normal cheek. He fell back and hit the ground with a thud. Pain shot through his face and he tasted blood in his mouth. Instinctively touching his face, he pulled his hands back to see blood grazing the ends of his fingers. The most dangerous animal is a wounded animal. He felt the anger rise in his chest and let out an inhuman snarl. So they wanted a beast? Well now they've got one.

The man saw the deformity clearly now. His eyes grew wide as he suddenly backed away in utter fear. Yellow eyes glared directly at him, as a predator after prey. "W-what are you?" the man's voice trembled.

Everyone backed away from the gruesome scene. Again the shrieking and gasps of horror returned. Memories flashed in his head again of the time when he lived in a cage as "The Living Corpse", "The Devil's Child"…

"What is that thing?!"

"Who are you?"

"Maman! It's a monster!"

"It's a bloody demon!"

The voices taunted him once more. He gripped his head as if in agony. "Tais-toi! Tais-toi!" he screamed at the voices, the crowd.

He looked up and glared around. A crowd was encircling him and keeping as far back as they could push away. He felt like a cornered animal once again as he did in that damned cage.

"Is this what you all wanted to see? _Is this what you all wanted to see_?!" he screeched at the crowd. They all backed away again in horror. "Well? You see it now! A damned demon! A bloody beast!"

He thought he saw a woman faint. He heard even heard children's cries. He truly was a monster in that moment; the kind of monster in fables that gave children nightmares. He was the very essence of those nightmares in that moment. He let out another inhuman sound as he plunged once again into the crowd.

One moment he craved death or some form of release from pain, now he only thought of survival, to get away from wide eyes and terrified screams. All he longed for now was a quiet place and somewhere he could be left alone. Funny how fate turned that around so cruelly. His whole life he yearned for someone to love him as he was, so he wouldn't be alone, and someone to share with him the same joy of that magic he had found in music. Some form of solace. Now he wanted the very opposite of that.

_Was this really the fate I was doomed for? To be alone in darkness and silence forever?, _he thought to himself as he ran. He let out a cold laugh, _Of course it is._

* * *

Finally, he had gotten far enough from the swarm of people and found himself in a maze of alleys. He was truly lost now. At least it was quiet and he was finally alone. He had quit running for some time, but still kept his pace as he weaved his way through the alleys. It was dark and much colder in these alleys than it had been in the streets.

He finally came to a stop. He looked around. It was almost too dark to make out anything, but all he could make out were just damp crates, waste, and broken glasses lying about.

He let his knees hit the hard ground as he lurched over and screamed. Someone would surely hear him, no doubt, but he didn't care. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He felt the tears stream from his face as he sobbed into the ground like a pitiful animal. He then sat up and back on his knees, letting his head fall back as he stared up at the starless sky. What a cruel humor fate had. To hide away the stars; to not give him any glimmer of hope.

He then looked over as his vision adjusted to the darkness. He saw his reflection in a broken mirror perched up against the wall of the alley. Fate truly had a sick sense of humor. He gritted his teeth as he lunged for the mirror and slammed his fist against that damned, pitiful beast mocking his existence. He recoiled his hands back then. He was lucky to not have any shards in them, but the jagged edges had stabbed into his flesh and scratched him. He looked down to see blood on them. The pain was sharp, but somehow served as a release.

He held them against his white shirt and continued to walk on, leaving the shattered visage behind.

* * *

He had no idea how far he walked, but he knew he was growing restless. As he walked on he felt his stomach begin to growl. He would need to eat soon, but he had no money. All of his expenses were back at the opera house. A place he did not want to return to. But he needed to find something and soon. He didn't want to reduce himself to stealing. That would only confirm him more to be the pitiful beast he was. All bloodied and mangled, looking for a meal. But he needed to survive.

He forced his hunger urge back into his conscience and trudged on. He felt his knees begin to grow weak. He needed to find a safe place to hide, to rest so he could figure out his next move.

He came across another alley, a more recluse one than the ones he had wandered through. It even had a high wall of wood that would protect him, at least for a bit, from anyone who might glance down the alley. It was still cold, but it blocked the wind better. It was better than nothing.

He climbed around the pile of wood and took refuge there. As he sat down, he drawled he knees up and rested his arms on them. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, forcing his mind to collect his thoughts.

What could he do now? Where could he go? He could go to Nadir? Or maybe Madame Giry's?

No. He didn't want to be around them just yet. After this night, he wasn't sure how they would even think of him. They knew him and how he could be at times, but tonight held a new advance to his already mad life. He couldn't face them just yet. In time, though.

Tears began to fall once more from his eyes. Silent sounds escaped from his lips. He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees then. He didn't feel like a pitiful beast anymore. He felt like a lonely child in that moment, a child longing some sort of comfort. But who would give him any sort of comfort? He thought he had found it, but he had been foolish to even think it would happen to him, he had been foolish to let himself hope, to let himself dream.

"Meow."

He jumped. He looked over to see a dark kitten perched on the wooden wall, licking its paw and staring down at him. The kitten jumped from the wall and began to move towards him, cautiously at first. It sniffed the edge of his boot before climbing onto his knee. He didn't know what to make of this, but at least he wasn't alone. At least the kitten didn't run away screaming from him.

He ran a few fingers through the kitten's soft dark fur. Its green eyes closed as it began to purr and arch its back into the touch. He felt the edge of his lips almost form into a smile. "At least you accept me."

He then lifted the tiny kitten gently into his arms and stroked his fur. The kitten continued to purr.

"Francois!" a voice called out in the distance and echoed off the walls. "Francois," the voice called again, "where are you, mon petit?"

The kitten immediately jumped out of his hands and climbed back up the wood pile. _So you're Francois, _he guessed to himself. The kitten then meowed. He felt his stomach drop. _Oh no. It'll lead them right to me!_

He tried to shoo the kitten off the wood pile and away from him. "Go. Go back to your owner."

But the damned thing continued to meow and lick its tiny paw without a care in the world.

"There you are, you silly little thing," a woman's voice called.

Light began to shimmer from behind the wood pile. He peeked through to see a woman coming closer to the pile. She was holding a lamp, but he couldn't quite make her out. As he looked back up at the kitten, he could see that its fur was completely black. _Bad luck. _Oh fate was definitely cruel tonight.

The woman's voice grew closer as she called to the small kitten. And what the kitten did next, almost made him want to drop dead right then. The kitten had jumped back down to his side of the wood pile.

"What? Francois, what are you doing? Come back over here." The voice was directly on the other side of the wood pile. It was soft and gentle as it continued to call for the mischievous kitten.

He shuffled back trying to stay out of sight. His eyes darted here and there trying to find something to hide behind. There was nowhere else to go. He was cornered again. How could he have been so stupid? He thought he was safe here for the time being. He had been wrongly mislead.

He felt his muscles tense as the woman continued to call for the kitten. He rearranged himself into a crouch, ready to bolt out of there if he needed to. But all thought of fleeing evaporated as the light of the lamp came around the wood pile. He cursed his body for tensing up at such a dire time, but he was utterly frozen in shock.

"Franco—oh!" he heard her gasp as she finally caught sight of him. Instinctively, his hand shot to his face, urgent to keep his deformity hidden from her. He was sick of people looking at him with fear, looking at him like a monster. "M-monsieur, are you alright?" she asked, which surprised him.

He had half been expecting her to turn around and run, screaming all the way. But she was still standing there. Had she seen his face? She couldn't have if she were still standing there.

She took a step over the wood pile, edging closer to them. He fell back and began to back away, like a child cowering from a monster. That was indeed a twist of coincidence for him since he was the real monster here. She didn't have fear in her eyes; there was caution, yes, but not fear.

"It's alright," she said cautiously taking a step closer. She gasped as the light came full on him now. Her eyes were wide now, but still not from fear, but something like shock. One hand covered her mouth as the other held the lamp out.

He shut his eyes then, trying to turn away from her. She would certainly flee from this sight to behold. Instead, he heard a little clank sound beside him. He opened his eyes to see that she had set the lamp down beside him. And she was there, next to him, crouching down.

He could see her clearly now. Her eyes were hazel and her hair was of a light red tone.

Her eyes were darting over his composure. He frowned at her in confusion. "Mon dieu, are you alright? You need help monsieur!"

He continued to stare at her in confusion, but then he looked down at his own attire. So that was it. His white shirt was covered in bloodstains from his hands. His hands, they were so numb, he could hardly feel them at all.

"Leave me alone," was all he managed to groan. The woman just stared at him.

"Monsieur, you're hurt! You need medical attention!" she said. Medical attention was the last thing he needed. People seeing his deformity was the last thing he wanted.

"No, just leave me," he groaned again, trying to turn away from her. He would have thought that any sensible person seeing a strange, blood-covered man sitting in a darkened alleyway would have turned and run by now.

"No. Please let me help you. You could get an infection!" she was persistent. He kept his hand firm over his deformity. He then felt something grasp his other hand. He stared at her in shock. She was examining the wounds on his hand. Her touch was gentle and warm. "Monsieur, you really are in no condition to be arguing with me about something like this."

He jerked is hand out of her grasp. She was pushing his limits. Why couldn't she see that he only wanted to be left alone? She held her hands up in defense, as if trying to say that she wasn't going to hurt him. He saw her then reach for his other hand. Didn't she know better than to toy with a wounded animal?

Instinctively his other hand caught her wrist. He gripped it tightly. He glared at her. "I would not do that if I were you," he threatened.

"Is your face hurt?" he heard her ask. He had been gripping his face tightly with his hand. She must have thought he had been injured there, but she was highly mistaken.

"No. It's not," he retorted sharply. She just sat there, as if unsure of what to do next. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Oh he had just about had it with her. "I told you to leave," he roared. Part of him wished he hadn't have done that.

She immediately backed away in fear. The snarl he wore on his face suddenly dissipated into a soft look. "I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Will you come back with me?" he heard her ask. He looked at her, dumbfounded. "Will you come back with me? To my home? I could take you there. Will you please just let me tend to your wounds? Just let me tend to them for a bit and then you can leave. I'll leave you alone, I promise. Just let me help you."

He just stared at her in utter shock. No one had ever invited him so willingly into their home. Of course she really hadn't seen his face yet. If she did, she probably wouldn't have offered for him to come with her. She was right though. At this rate and in this cold he was more than likely to catch some sort of infection in his wounds.

He sighed before answering, "Fine."

He saw her smiling then. He tried to push himself off the ground. Oh mon dieu, was he weak. He then felt her grasp his arm, helping him up. "Can you walk?" she asked.

His legs were so tired and weak, but he had enough strength to make a small journey to wherever she led him.

"Meow," came that same little noise.

"Oh, Francois, there you are," she said taking up the tiny kitten in her arms, "I've been looking for you." She ten gathered the lamp with the kitten tucked in her other arm.

"Is he yours?" she heard the man behind her.

"Yes," she said smiling at him. "But he is a she."

"Oh," was all he said. "But, Francois is a man's name, no?"

"Yes, but I wasn't the one who named her, my brother did. He thought she was a boy, but even after he found out, the name still stuck."

"Does your brother live with you?" he asked.

"Yes, he and my younger sister do," she confirmed.

_Mon dieu! What have I gotten myself into?, _he thought to himself. "Won't they be shocked to see you bringing home a blood-soaked man?"

"They might be, but they'll handle it," she said. "They know how to deal with this sort of stuff."

This sort of stuff? He didn't know what to say to that. He thought for a moment…

"How do you know you can trust me?" he asked. She looked up at him then. "How do you know I'm not some crazy, murderous bloke? You're inviting me into your home, where there are two children, as I'm assuming. How do you know I won't lash out and harm them? Or you even?" his tone was dark now.

She thought for a moment. "Honestly, I don't know if I can trust you. But even so, I think you would have already tried to harm me by now if you were a crazy bloke. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't have just kept telling me to leave. I would think you would have lashed out by then. Of course I would have lashed back with this," she said raising the hem of her skirt. What was she doing? He looked to see a knife fastened around the lower half of her leg, a quick weapon to grasp. He looked back at her to see a glint in her eyes.

"What if I'm just luring you in?" he asked. "What if this was all part of my plan to have you coax me into your home? I am capable of such things."

"Well then, you're not doing a very good job of hiding it now, are you?" she said. "And even if you were say, a murderous man, I don't think you would be asking on behalf of the safety of my family, or me. Also, Francois doesn't often take too kindly to strangers. So that gives me some sort of hint."

She had a point, he thought. But still she didn't know how wrong she was. He had been driven to insanity in his past, and he had murdered before to get what he wanted. And yet, here she was, offering him a warm place to rest and heal. He noticed he almost let his guard down and let his hand slip from his face. He gripped his face. No. He had to keep his guard up. He couldn't let himself be hurt again. He had no more room in his heart for that kind of pain.

"Give me your hand," she said. He looked at her. He saw her setting down the lamp and tiny kitten. She drew her knife out, and he felt his stomach drop. The hell if he would give her his hand. He then heard fabric shredding. He saw that she was cutting the hem of her skirt. "Alright, now give it here," she ordered.

He gave her his free hand, as she gently wrapped the fabric around his bloody wounds. "Alright, now give me the other one."

He froze, just staring at her. She looked at him earnestly. He didn't want her to see his face; he didn't want her to run away. This was strange now since he had been urging her to leave him alone earlier. Oh this was surely a night a flip-flops, wasn't it?

Turning away so she couldn't see his face, he covered it with his bandaged hand and gave her his other. She did the same thing with that hand. "There, that wasn't so hard now was it?" she asked smiling at him.

He kept his face hidden away as he covered it back with his former hand. "You wouldn't happen to have anything I could use to cover my face?"

"I'm afraid not. Why do you need to cover it? Surely it can't be that bad." Oh if only she knew, and he didn't want her to know.

She saw as he closed his eyes and let his head droop in sadness. A look of sympathy crossed her face. "You don't have to show it to me, if you don't want to," she said. "I can't make you do anything you're not ready for."

He looked back up at her. At least she understood and didn't push anymore.

"What is your name?" she asked.

He just stared at her. Only few knew of his name. "Erik."

She just looked him up. "It suits you," she said. "My name's Aubrey. Aubrey Matthieu."

She had introduced her full name to him. She was a brusque little thing, wasn't she? She couldn't be more than 20, he thought to himself. He only nodded at her before she picked up Francois and the lamp once more.

"Well, we should be going," she said. "It's not too far from here."

They began to walk. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the journey. Erik had just wondered what he had gotten himself into. He would do his best to keep his face hidden so as not to frighten her or her siblings. He would probably stay long enough until he his wounds were tended to and he could get back his strength.

_This certainly is a night of twists, isn't it?_

* * *

**As much as I love _Phantom of the Opera, _I could suck at writing fiction for it for all I know. So please feel free to leave a review or critique if you wish! Au revoir! **

**Translations:**

**Juste que ça s'arrête - Just make it stop**

**Mon dieu - My god **

**Crétin - Cretin, moron, fool, etc.**

**Tais-toi - Shut up**

**Mon petit - My little one**


End file.
